smartass_captain

From:

The way Spock watches him is hungry, devouring, but at the same time adoring. there remains almost none of his irises left visible for how wide his pupils have blown out.

Every part of him aches with want, feels like there is only heat residing in him, hotter than he has ever felt; he moans Jim's name into his ear as he fucks him, as he draws his thumb slowly along Jim's jaw, his cheek, repetitive and soothing.

"Follow my breathing," he murmurs, and while his own respiration is not perfectly even, at points a little ragged, Jim needs something to focus on because if he is this wild already, when things are about to get worse (better), he might shake apart entirely in Spock's arms.

He starts to lean back just enough to shift their positions, but the thing is. The thing is, Vulcans have impeccable hearing, extremely keen. So while Jim does not notice his brother in the hall cursing his impotent rage, Spock does. Spock does and he shifts all at once, head not turning but gaze flicking toward the door as he rocks back onto his knees, the hand that had been supporting himself slipping to rest at the small of Jim's back to drag him into Spock's lap properly so he can snap his hips up into him instead, giving Spock more leverage, altering the angle of his thrusts just enough to glide along his prostate every movement—

"—I want to hear you say my name." The words scrape out of his throat and over his tongue, rough and desperate, and that much is not at all for the spite he has toward Samuel Kirk. That is purely for himself.

Not I would like, not would you please, but I want.